


Such a Mutual Pair

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Antony & Cleopatra, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Prompt: We should see Jack in the Antony costume, but he doesn’t have to stay in it. There should be smut.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>This is a follow-up to the first chapter of my ficathon piece <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/12454467">Trilogy</a> for deedeeinfj, whose original prompt started this, and Fire_Sign, who was the first to suggest that maybe we should see a little more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such a Mutual Pair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts), [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



Jack closed his eyes. He’d promised her, so he supposed he had to do this. He opened his eyes again. The thing was still there, its red tunic taunting him, the leather armor smelling of the oil that had been used to clean and preserve it. He picked up the hanger and held it in front of himself. It would reach almost to his knees, he thought. Swallowing, he sighed. He’d promised. He just hoped that no one saw him in the hall. Thank goodness most of the household was away; only Mr Butler remained, and he’d likely keep to his own rooms downstairs. Sighing, Jack began to loosen his tie, grateful that this bedroom had a tall mirror so that he could be sure of his appearance before he ventured into Phryne’s.

Ten minutes later, he was dressed—if you could call it that—his calves wrapped round with lace-up sandals (where had she found those?). He pursed his lips and examined himself in the mirror. It was a passable Antony costume, he supposed. And it fit him rather nicely. The armor emphasized his shoulders and the short sleeves showed his biceps. Only the barest part of his thighs were on display, but his knees and calves were bared. Narrowing his eyes at his face, he ran his hands through his hair to loosen his pomade. Antony would not be quite so… groomed, he thought. Once his curls were less contained, he looked again and nodded. Not too shabby. He grinned a little wickedly. Phryne would be surprised to know that he wore no undergarments. He knew the purpose of this little play, and he felt they would be a hindrance. He picked up the helmet with its absurd horsehair brush on top and, angling it a little to tuck it under his arm, he eased open the bedroom door and peered out.

No one was in sight, so he walked quietly down the hall, trying to be dignified, but feeling the cool breeze swirling against his bare legs and arse. He’d worn something this short at the beach, and hadn’t been this self-conscious in it. He hoped she appreciated the effort. Stopping in front of Phryne’s bedroom door, he paused for a moment to breathe. It was silly to be nervous. This was just a little playacting, right? An excuse for Phryne to see him wearing this ridiculous costume? She’d been hinting around it for a long time, and if it helped her get some distance from the last time she’d offered it to him, well, that was all to the good. Blowing out a breath, he steeled himself—he hoped she wouldn’t laugh—and lightly knocked; when Phryne didn’t object, he assumed she was ready and slowly pushed the door open.

When she heard the knock on the door, Phryne scrambled to arrange herself on the bed. She loved this Cleopatra costume. It was so daring and lovely. The gold-button collar itched, but it looked fabulous against her skin, and the eye makeup under the large golden headdress made her look so exotic. She’d set the scene in her room by lighting candles and draping her fur coverlet over the pillows that she piled high against the headboard. She wanted to be lounging against them, her face in profile, when Jack came in. When he opened the door, she was sitting propped against the fur, one knee raised, an arm draped across it, and her face looking toward the back of the room. She heard Jack’s small gasp, and with a smirk that acknowledged her successful staging, she slowly turned to look at him.

Her smirk fell away when she saw him, and she felt her body flush with a very immediate desire. His hair lay in soft curls against his forehead, giving him a very different aspect to his usual. Softer, and yet it set off the planes of his face to make him look more like the warrior Antony was. In addition, the red of the tunic did beautiful things to his skin, and the breastplate showed off the width of his muscular chest. His arms, while not bulging with muscle, had very good lines, and the short sleeves of the tunic left them bare. Her eyes skimmed down his body to the bottom of the dagged armor, which hinted at what she knew were very muscular thighs and bared his lower legs entirely. He’d laced the leather sandals she’d given him all the way up to the knee, the criss-cross pattern of the lacings giving her some very naughty ideas. Phryne swallowed, knowing that what she was feeling must be visible on her face, and raised her eyes back to Jack’s. Clearing her throat, she spoke the line she’d prepared.

“Since my lord is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.” Her voice was slightly hoarse, and the expression on her face was still a little stunned. Jack smiled, a little shyly, as he saw her reaction. Apparently, there was something to be said for this costume after all. He spoke the stanza that he’d prepared, knowing what she looked like in that costume. It wasn’t one of Antony’s lines, but he thought it apt.

“For her own person,  
It beggared all description; she did lie  
In her pavilion—cloth-of-gold of tissue—  
O’er-picturing that Venus where we see  
The fancy outwork nature; on each side her  
Stood pretty-dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,  
With divers-coloured fans, whose wind did seem  
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,  
And what they undid did.”

Phryne felt a shudder run through her body at the sound of his deep voice using the Bard’s words. Even his slightly comical squinty-eyed glare around the room—looking for the “pretty-dimpled boys” no doubt—couldn’t break the mood for her. She sat up slightly, her breath coming quickly already. She wasn’t certain how long she’d be able to hold back from ravishing him. In hindsight, it was a very good thing that he hadn’t had a chance to put this costume on at Guy and Isabella’s engagement party. They might not have made it out of the bedroom at all.

Jack set the helmet on the couch at the side of the room and closed the door. Approaching the bed where Phryne lay, he bent over her, placing an arm on either side of her torso. She leaned back on her elbows, her eyes heavy-lidded. He gazed at her, feeling his body respond to her nearness and her scent. He spoke again, softly, his lips near her ear.

“But stirr’d by Cleopatra.  
Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours,  
Let’s not confound the time with conference harsh:  
There’s not a minute of our lives should stretch  
Without some pleasure now. What sport tonight?”

At the last sentence, which he practically growled, he trailed his tongue up the tendon that lay behind her ear, and Phryne’s gasp of pleasure was music to his ears. He lifted a hand to remove her headdress, dropping it to the floor beside the bed, where it rolled away. He dipped his head for a kiss, keeping his mouth against hers as he climbed up onto the bed to lie atop her, his hips between her thighs, his torso propped up on his elbows. When he was situated, he lifted his head, exulting at the desire writ naked across her face. With his mouth only a breath above hers, he spoke once more.

“Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch  
Of the ranged empire fall. Here is my space.  
Kingdoms are clay; our dungy earth alike  
Feeds beast as man; the nobleness of life  
Is to do thus; when such a mutual pair  
And such a twain can do’t.”

On the line “here is my space,” Jack pulsed his hips against Phryne, his meaning clear. Phryne shuddered again, her breath gusting out over his lips, her voice a whisper. “Oh, Jack,” she managed, before she pulled him down to her, covering his lips with her own.

Her kiss was wild, and Jack loved it. He slid one hand down her side, intending to lift her leg and give himself more room to pulse his hips against her center. But he’d forgotten how high the slit in this dress was, and when his hand touched bare skin, he groaned into her mouth. He paused, hand on her bare thigh, and Phryne lifted her leg to wrap it around his hips. Jack slid his hand between their bodies to cup his hand between her legs, and was unsurprised to realize that she wore no knickers.

The slide of his fingers against her slick, hot flesh made Phryne’s back arch, her breasts pressing hard against Jack’s armored chest. His mouth left hers and her head fell back, the feel of his lips and tongue traveling down her throat sending waves of pleasure through her body. Jack’s mouth opened against her breast, and she could feel the heat of his breath through the fabric of her dress. Suddenly, that wasn’t enough, and Phryne lifted a hand to pull the cup of her bodice down to free her nipple; Jack took the hint immediately, sweeping his tongue around the hardened peak before wrapping it with his lips and suckling hard. At the same time, he pressed two fingers inside her body, caressing her with firm strokes; after every two or three thrusts of his fingers, he’d pull them all the way out and sweep the moisture on his fingers up and around her clit before thrusting inside again. She shook against him, her thighs trembling as her tension built.

Jack could tell that she was on the edge, so he spoke one more line against her breast. “Finish, my darling; the bright day is done, and we are for the dark.” It wasn’t quite right, that line, but he thought it fit the moment.

The rumble of his voice combined with the heat of his breath ghosting over the wet skin of her nipple and the rhythm of his hand between her thighs to send her over with a breathless wail. Phryne’s body stiffened and she clenched her hand on his shoulder, holding him close. When her climax ended, she went limp, sagging back against the pillows.

Jack slid his fingers from her body and put them in his mouth, licking himself clean. He pushed himself up to a kneeling position between her thighs, then slid his hands under Phryne’s thighs and lifted them, pulling her toward him and off the mound of pillows to lie flat. When her bottom rested on his knees, he swept one hand under his tunic to grasp his cock and guide it into her entrance, pulling her onto him with a jerk that made Phryne’s back bow. He could feel her internal muscles clenching around him.

“God, Phryne, you feel so good,” he rumbled, flexing his hips to slowly withdraw from her warmth and just as slowly thrust back in. His eyes half closed, he watched her writhe on the bed, one hand lifting to play with the breast she’d bared, the other spreading across her throat before pulling down the other side of her bodice to play with that nipple.

Her voice only a whisper, she said “Oh, Jack!” As he continued to unhurriedly thrust and withdraw, her cries gained in volume and changed to “yes, Jack!” Her hands worked her breasts, pinching and pulling at her nipples harder than Jack would have attempted.

Jack glanced down at where they were joined, and growled in frustration. The skirt of his tunic and armor had covered them both, and he wanted to see. Pressing into her body, he held there for a moment, releasing the side catches on the armor and pulling it up and over his head. Then he stripped the tunic off, leaving himself naked but for the tall sandals. Smoothing his hands under the ruched part of her skirt, he pushed it up to bare her to the waist, his hands sliding warmly over her buttocks. Settling his hands back on her hips, he began his rhythm again.

Phryne watched Jack strip off, feeling his cock stretching her internal muscles as he kept her impaled. She continued to stroke her breasts as she gazed at him, admiring the way his chest and arms flexed. Mesmerized, she slipped one hand under her golden collar to push the strap of her gown off her shoulder, then slid her arm out of it. She repeated the action on the other side; by the time Jack had his hands back on her hips, her gown was rucked around her waist, and she had both hands back on her breasts. When he began to move again, she folded her legs around his back, her heels digging into his buttocks.

Jack stared down at the space between them as it appeared and disappeared with each thrust of his body into hers. He never tired of the sight of his cock pushing into Phryne; it made him feel as if he was a part of her.

Phryne’s eyes traveled from Jack’s face, where his brows were drawn together in concentration and his jaw clenched as he kept himself under control, down his chest, glistening with sweat, to his belly. She knew he was watching their bodies merge, knew that he loved that image almost as much as the feeling of it. Suddenly, she wanted to see it too. She reached a hand out to him, sliding up from his hand on her hip to clutch his elbow and lever herself up. He shifted his grip to her lower back to help her pull herself up to press against his chest, his eyes moving to her face. When she was close enough, he kissed her, and she fed her tongue into his mouth, pumping with the same rhythm as his body.

Pulling her head away, she leaned back looked down to where their bodies joined. The white of her costume was stark against the shadows of their skin, and she could see his cock, two shades darker than the rest of Jack’s skin and glistening with her juices, as it withdrew from her body and then pushed back in. With each withdrawal, there was an increase of light beneath them, softly filtering through the gauzy skirt that trailed behind her and covered his knees. She ran one hand across his strong shoulders and into the hair at the back of his neck, leaning in to press her cheek against his before turning to capture his lips again. Her other hand slid down her body to swirl and press against her clit until a second orgasm rippled through her.

Jack felt Phryne’s climax as a full-body shudder, her internal muscles pulsing against his cock as he continued to thrust. He felt himself tense along with her, and his hands clenched on her body as he allowed his own orgasm to overtake him.

Panting, they rested against each other, kissing softly as their bodies calmed.

Jack chuffed out a laugh. “I should probably quote some other part of that play at this moment, but I’ll be damned if I can remember any of it.” Phryne’s chuckle was warm. “And,” he went on, his laughter breaking free, “I think these sandals are cutting of the circulation to my feet.”

Phryne’s laugh was a sound that Jack adored, and her helpless giggles as she slid off his lap and helped him unfasten the laces of his sandals was contagious. Before long, they were both laughing, first at the criss-crossing lines the sandal laces had left in Jack’s calves and feet, then at their fumbling efforts to untangle Phryne’s costume from around her waist so that they could get it off of her. Once they were both naked and the pins and needles sensation in Jack’s feet had subsided, they slid under the covers.

“Thank you for tonight, Jack,” Phryne’s voice was soft. “I knew that you would look particularly handsome in that costume; I’m glad that I finally got to see it.” She stroked his chest idly, her head on his shoulder.

“You’re welcome, Phryne,” he said. “I’ll admit, it wasn’t as mortifying as I’d anticipated. Thank you for not laughing at me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Laugh at you?” Phryne lifted her head to look at him, her face incredulous. “Whyever would I do that? You are a beautiful man, Jack Robinson. That costume was merely icing.” She shook her head at his doubtful look, and reached her hand up to cup his jaw. “I adore you, you know.” His smile held a combination of shyness and awe, and she ran her thumb over his lower lip before she dipped her head to tenderly kiss him.

“I do know,” he said in a rumble when their lips parted. “And I know that makes me the luckiest man alive.” He ran his hand over her hair, admiring her. “My queen,” he whispered.

She grinned at him and slid her thigh across his waist. “Your queen? I rather like that.” And as she shifted her body to lie atop his, her hand reaching down between them to find him already hardening again, he smiled and prepared himself for another wonderful ride.


End file.
